


Blame and the Good Intentions of a Friend

by raspberrie



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: M/M, and light snafu/sledge just because, but its there, like you have to squint to find it, only minor violence, sort of pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 07:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrie/pseuds/raspberrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He needs someone, something, anything to blame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame and the Good Intentions of a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> So. POV of Eugene Sledge. After Bill Leyden gets hit and onwards.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters or anything of the sort, I am not making money off of this, this is not based off of the real men that all of this shit happened to and I mean no disrespect towards them in any way, shape, or form.

He needs someone, something, _anything_ to blame. He can’t blame the other men, cause they are in this whole fuckin war together (though how he wanted to blame them. For holding him back from trying to help Bill. For being shot and blown up into unrecognizable pieces, causing him so much heart-ache. Blaming them for making him hurt the way he did). And he dare not go into the territory of blaming himself, or he would end up doing God knows what (the most probable would be putting a gun in his mouth and a bullet though his brain). So no, he can’t blame himself. And he can’t blame it on the weather, for as much as he hated it, it’s not like he could do anything about it.

But he could blame the Japs. That’s all they are good for isn’t it? To be scape goats. To be blamed. To die. 

So he does. He blames everything on them. For living where they do, for the horrible weather and “living” (more like dying) conditions. For killing his friends. For getting them out on these tiny God-forsaken specks of dirt and starting this whole goddamned war in the first place. Anything and everything he can blame them for, he does. 

 

***

 

He is going out of his goddamn mind. Couldn’t he just shut UP for Gods sake. Just SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP. He can’t think straight he just can’t anymore. He is so goddamn tired and he doesn’t need reminding of how shitty everything is. Least of all from Snafu. 

They start shouting at each other. Eugene is screaming, mindlessly, thoughtlessly just “SHUT UP SNAFU.” And Snafu is hollering right back “FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU SLEDGE.” 

The words sting, but he doesn’t care. He just doesn’t care anymore cause he is probably going to die on these muddy fucking hills, shot somewhere fatal, ripped apart by shrapnel, bleeding out and become just another corpse for the men to walk over. Become another stenching, rotting body for them to complain about. Become a nobody, just a name and a memory. Fated to be stuck in this mud on this fucking island for the end of time until everything decomposes to dust. No, not dust. Mud. Because that’s all there seems to be out here, just mud and rain and rocks. 

Eugene stopped shouting. He sees Peck get up, run up the hill taking off his poncho, going out of his mind, shooting blindly and shouting for the Japs to “come and get me!”

Sledge is the first to get there. Mostly because he was already standing up and was the first one to see Peck move. He begs Peck to get down, grabbing at his uniform around his shin, looking for something to grasp so he can pull him down and away from enemy fire. He feels Snafu land next to him, grab Eugene's poncho and push him down the hill, away for the danger as Hamm takes his place trying to get Peck to get down. He can’t see much. The only thing he can feel is Snafu's weight on his left side, practically lying on top of him, still grabbing his poncho, refusing to let go. He can hear Snafu’s breathing and heart beat telling Sledge that he’s still alive.  

A lot happens at once. Hamm gets up and manages to push Peck down into the mud. He stands tall, triumphant for a split second. And then he’s on the ground. Face up, staring with unseeing eyes at the dark night, a stream of thick blood coming from his mouth. Eugene sits there with Snafu’s death grip on his poncho staring at Hamm. Hamm, that pulled him away from Bill and away from the artillery fire. Hamm, who wasn’t drafted. Who was young and full of hope and naïvety. Hamm, who's blood is seeping out of his mouth and into his sandy hair. Hamm, who is dead.

He finally fully comprehends what happened. He lunges at Peck, meaning to hurt him, to make him feel the pain of Hamm’s death like he does. Making him see the stupidity in it. [And the pain is not even from it being Hamm who died. But more of the fact that they lost _another_ one _._ So now Hamm is just another fucking name to forget. A name that will remain forever and only a name. Just a sillouette of a soldier now left to rot in the mud of a far away place with men who's heads seem to be twisted on backwards as they search for far away lands that hold better promises than this one.] He’s saying something along the lines of  “You stupid, stupid bastard” but he’s not sure, cause all he knows is that Hamm’s dead when he shouldn’t be and that Snafu pulled him away from that fate before it could come to pass, because Eugene knows Snaf couldn’t bare his last words to Eugene to be “Fuck you Sledge.” Because Eugene was the first, the last and the only good thing to happen to Snafu in this idiotic war.  

Snafu pulls him off Peck. 

 

Eugene sits in the mud and Snafu comforts Peck – an action that Eugene doesn’t really understand, until later, as guilt. Cooing at him, comforting him in the only way Sanfu knows how, saying, “It’s ok Peck. You’re ok.” Until Mackenzie comes over asking what the hell happened. 

Sledge numbly states, “Hamm’s dead. Peck’s gone.”

 

He sees Peck getting dragged away by his uniform. 

 

He looks over at Snafu. Snafu is staring at him again. He tries to say sorry with a look. Tries to hold a stare into those imposibly vast, unwavering eyes. Tries to say to him that he knows Snafu was trying to save him from Hamm's fate. Trying to save him because all they’ve really got on this muddy fucking hell-of-an-island is each other. He doesn’t know if his friend understands, but he hopes so. 

 

They go back to their flooded foxholes and sit close, trying either to stay as warm as they can, or to silently comfort each other, he doesn’t really know which and he doesn’t really care. He drifts off vaguely – head laid back in the sticky, gloppy mud, Snafu’s body pressed in a solid line against him – into a dreamless and uncomfortable sleep. His mind searching for something, anything to put meaning into what they are doing thousands of miles from their homes fighting a seemingly endless war against a ruthless enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are ever so appreciated and loved and praised, because most of the time I think my writing is shit. Thanks bunches.


End file.
